


you'll be mine and I'll be yours

by elizaham8957



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Basically everything but 6b is canon, Canon Divergent, F/M, Fluff, Holiday, I earlier tagged this as 'canon compliant for the most part', I feel like that says it all, Implied Smut, Mutual Pining, SO, Scott is tired, again I'm still never writing smut but... it happens, and it has now occured to me that's called canon divergent, and who needs that anyways?, background Scira, bed sharing, but you know what I'm not sorry at all, fake dating au, for such smart people they're seriously idiots sometimes, stiles and lydia are so in love with each other god, this is maybe the most cliche thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13141083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: “There still seems like there’s a lot that could go wrong,” Stiles said, still conflicted. “It just sounds like the premise of a bad rom com, but with a messier ending because in those movies the people always actually fall in love at the end.”“It’ll only be for a week,” Lydia said. “And then we’ll be back in Boston, and everyone else will still be in California. We can pull this off for a week.” She paused, her grin infectious. “Just think, Stiles. Not a single question about if you’ve found anyone yet.”Stiles thought back to previous holidays, conversations with his dad on the phone, and skype calls with his best friend, a baby nestled against his chest. That sympathetic, pitying look they all got in their eye when Stiles told them no, he wasn’t dating anyone. He looked back at Lydia, her green eyes shining with excitement over her plan.“What do you say, Stiles?” Lydia asked, leaning forward. “Will you be my fake boyfriend?”Stiles met her eyes again, shooting her a cheeky grin. She smiled back, body almost buzzing with excitement.“Sure thing.”





	you'll be mine and I'll be yours

**Author's Note:**

> Well, folks, this is maybe the most cliche thing I have EVER written, but it also might be my favorite thing I've ever written, so. This was just... so much fun to write. 
> 
> First off, I'd like to thank the Center for Academic Excellence at my university, because they basically paid me to write about half of this fic when the students I was scheduled to tutor did not show up for their appointments. I'd also like to thank Fer (@lydiastxles) for reading through this and assuring me that there was not, in fact, too much fluff. (Although it came close, guys. This is... extremely fluffy.) 
> 
> This takes place in canon, technically, except some things in 6a don't happen, and we can probably just completely disregard 6b. That doesn't really have that much relevance to the story anyways. Basically Scott is still a werewolf. That's all that's important to this. 
> 
> Also, Lydia wears three dresses in this fic: [this](https://s7d9.scene7.com/is/image/CharlotteRusse/302415473_001?%24s7product%24&fmt=jpg&fit=constrain,1&wid=1024&hei=1336) is the first one, [this](https://www.promgirl.com/shop/dresses/viewitem-PD1366704) is the second one, and [this](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/20/8f/d3/208fd3d19d38ab11a8f78f1c24519a5c--forest-green-dresses-dark-green-dresses.jpg) is the third one. [This](https://static.webshopapp.com/shops/210284/files/117365327/lovelymusthaves-pijl-arrow-boho-bohemian-style-ver.jpg) is the ring she's talking about too. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think of this! I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter too if you ever want to chat. 
> 
> Enjoy, and happy holidays!

“Yes, Mom, I know.” 

Stiles glanced up briefly, sensing the exasperation in Lydia’s tone. Her brows were knit together, a subtle pout tugging at her lips as she twisted the end of her ponytail around her finger. 

“I’m sorry I can’t come home, okay? But we just had a huge breakthrough with our research, and I can’t leave now. I’m already working overtime. Trying to get time off would be impossible.” 

She paused, and Stiles glanced back down at the case file sitting in his lap, papers spread everywhere on Lydia’s coffee table. She sighed in annoyance, speaking to her mother again.

“No, not even for Thanksgiving.” 

Lydia fell silent again, listening to her mom speak, undoubtedly. Stiles flipped through the photos in the file, studying the grotesque stab wounds in their newest victim, comparing them to the wounds in a photo of an older body. 

“I just can’t, Mom, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll be home for Christmas.” She paused, then groaned, and Stiles glanced up to see her drop her head in her hands. “No, I swear, I did  _ not  _ forget about Anna’s wedding.” She paused again, and Stiles could almost hear the echo of Mrs. Martin’s voice from the phone. “Who gets married on Christmas eve anyways? Aren’t the holidays chaotic enough as they are?” 

Stiles tuned out their conversation, studying the photos in his lap again. This one picture didn’t look  _ anything  _ like the newest victim, but this other photo— those stab wounds  _ definitely  _ looked like they could have come from the same knife. 

“No, I don’t have a date,” Lydia said, and Stiles froze, looking up again. If Lydia had looked exasperated before, she looked flat-out  _ annoyed  _ now. “Why do I need a date for my cousin’s wedding anyways? I do  _ not  _ want to subject some poor, innocent person to  _ our  _ family.” 

Lydia paused again, before continuing. “No, Mom, I’m still not dating anyone. Why do you assume that’s something I would keep from you?” Another pause. “Well, it’s not like I have any free time to begin with. I’m always at the university. And it’s too much effort with all the…  _ supernatural  _ baggage I’ve got.” She paused again, then huffed in laughter. “Yeah, that sounds like a  _ great  _ thing to drop on someone on the first date. ‘Wow, this restaurant is really nice. By the way, I’m a supernatural harbinger of death whose screams can break down doors and blow people’s  _ skulls  _ open. How’s the steak?’” 

Stiles couldn’t help snorting in laughter at that, and Lydia caught his eye, shaking her head good-naturedly, glad he understood how ridiculous her mother was being. “Mom, I’m only twenty seven, okay? I’ll  have  _ plenty  _ of time to date after I win the Field’s Medal.” 

Stiles looked back down at his papers, tuning out the rest of Lydia’s conversation with her mom. Vaguely, he thought of how high-school-him would react to sitting here listening to Lydia discuss her love life so casually, but now, it didn’t phase him. They’d grown up a lot since then. It had taken four years of college and acceptance of the fact that Lydia was never really going to feel that way about him to get over his lifelong crush, but, in hindsight, Stiles was so glad that he’d made it to this point now. Lydia was his best friend. They lived in the same apartment building and everything, and more often than not, they spent their free time in each other’s living rooms, either working on things for their respective jobs or watching movies or just  _ being  _ together. Stiles hadn’t stopped loving Lydia. He didn’t think he ever would. But his feelings for her had shifted again— just like they had shifted from a childhood infatuation to a mature, respecting love in high school. He loved Lydia as his friend now, and he couldn’t imagine his life without their easy friendship, their mutual dependence on the other. Maybe they were always meant to end up just as friends. Sitting across from Lydia now, his work files spread out on her coffee table while she talked on the phone, shoes kicked off and hair in a sloppy ponytail, it certainly felt that way. 

Lydia paused again, listening to something her mother said, before continuing. “I have to go, okay, Mom? I have work I’m supposed to be doing.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Love you too.” 

Lydia hung up the phone before sighing loudly, leaning back against the cushions and dropping her head onto the back of the couch. One hand drifted up to her temple, massaging it slowly with her fingers, as if to relieve the headache her mother had clearly just given her. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked, stacking his murder victim photos and resting them on the coffee table in front of him. Lydia sighed again, looking up and meeting his eye. 

“My mother is driving me crazy,” she said, and Stiles almost laughed. 

“Yeah, I could kind of tell.” 

“I’ve told her a  _ thousand  _ times how important this research is, and still, her biggest focus is if I’m bringing a date to my cousin’s wedding in  _ December.” _

“You totally forgot about that wedding, didn’t you?” Stiles asked. Lydia groaned again, nodding as she buried her head in her hands. 

“Yes, I did. I have more important things to think about!” she defended as Stiles laughed. “The  _ last  _ thing I want to do is go home for Christmas, and not only have to deal with my  _ mom  _ pestering about my love life, but fend off my entire extended  _ family’s  _ questions.” 

“Do no one but us understand there’s more to life than who we’re dating?” 

“Exactly!” Lydia said, eyes lit up with passion. “I guarantee you, not  _ once  _ will one of my relatives ask about my research, or my progress on getting the Field’s medal. I am part of the research team that is the  _ closest ever  _ to solving the Riemann hypothesis, and everyone will just ask if I’ve found anyone yet.” 

“No, I get it,” Stiles said, nodding. “My dad’s the same way. It’s all Scott’s frickin’ fault, honestly. Ever since Kira and he had the baby, my dad has been even worse.” 

“I swear, I should just pay some random guy to come home with me and convince my family that I’m not actually alone so that they stop pestering me about it,” Lydia said, making a face. “Hire a fake boyfriend.” Stiles laughed, nodding. Suddenly, though, her expression shifted, her eyes growing wide and her mouth dropping ever-so-slightly open as she gave Stiles that look that he  _ knew  _ meant she had an idea. 

“What?” he asked, bracing himself.

“Oh my god,” she said, voice quiet. “Stiles. What if  _ we  _ pretend to be dating?” 

He froze at that, completely shocked by her proposition.  _ “What?”  _ he said, mouth a little dry. 

“Think about it,” Lydia said. “It’s the perfect plan. We’re already best friends, so it’s definitely plausible. Both our families will stop bugging us, I won’t have to be alone at this horrific wedding, and we can get drunk off of free booze at the reception for Christmas. All we’d have to do is hold hands and pretend we're in love.” 

“That is  _ definitely  _ intriguing,” Stiles said, seriously considering it. “Only one problem. Our other best friend is a  _ werewolf  _ who can literally  _ smell  _ emotions.” 

Lydia scoffed, shaking her head like that was a minor detail. “We’ll tell Scott and Kira. They’d be able to pick up on our heartbeats and they’d find out we’re lying anyways.” 

“There still seems like there’s a  _ lot  _ that could go wrong,” Stiles said, still conflicted. “It just sounds like the premise of a bad rom com, but with a messier ending because in those movies the people always  _ actually  _ fall in love at the end.” 

“It’ll only be for a week,” Lydia said. “And then we’ll be back in Boston, and everyone else will still be in California. We can pull this off for a  _ week.”  _ She paused, her grin infectious. “Just  _ think,  _ Stiles. Not a single question about if you’ve found anyone yet.” 

Stiles thought back to previous holidays, conversations with his dad on the phone, and skype calls with his best friend, a baby nestled against his chest. That sympathetic, pitying look they all got in their eye when Stiles told them no, he wasn’t dating anyone. He looked back at Lydia, her green eyes shining with excitement over her plan. 

“What do you say, Stiles?” Lydia asked, leaning forward. “Will you be my fake boyfriend?” 

Stiles met her eyes again, shooting her a cheeky grin. She smiled back, body almost buzzing with excitement. 

“Sure thing.” 

***

It was always weird coming back to Beacon Hills. 

It wasn’t as if Lydia made a point of actively avoiding her hometown, it just… seemed to work out that way. Ever since she’d moved to Boston for college, something about the city had just kept drawing her in, and she found herself making excuses for why she had to stay. And then she’d been offered a position on one of MIT’s research teams, and then  _ Stiles  _ had moved to Boston for work, and before she knew it, she was only back in Beacon Hills once a year for Christmas. 

Stiles was better than her— he went home at least three or four times a year. He worried about his dad being alone still, she knew, and there was also the tiny detail of  _ Scott  _ living in California still. Generally he and Kira would come out to visit them in Boston a couple times a year too, but ever since Kira had had the baby, they had been a little preoccupied. 

“Scott!” Stiles called out, pushing ahead of Lydia and through the crowded airport terminal, evidently having spotted his best friend among the throng. 

“Hey!” Lydia heard Scott say, elbowing her way through the masses just in time to see Stiles tackle his best friend in a hug. “Lydia!” Scott said, letting go of Stiles and pulling her into a giant bear hug. Lydia laughed, hugging him back tightly. 

“Hey, Scott,” she said, letting him go. He just beamed at both of them, his smile radiant. 

“God, it’s so good to see you guys,” Scott said, shaking his head in disbelief, like it was unreal that they were in front of him right now. 

“Same, buddy,” Stiles said, grinning again. Scott leaned over, picking up one of Lydia’s dropped bags, before leading them out of the terminal and to his car. 

“So how have you guys been?” Scott asked. “Lydia, how’s your work going? You find those non-trivial zeroes yet?” 

Lydia smile shone with pride as she stuffed her bags into the trunk next to Stiles’s. “Not yet, but it’s going really well,” she told Scott. “We just hit a major breakthrough in October, and that’s actually why I wasn’t back here for Thanksgiving. I’ve been at the university pretty constantly.” 

“Seriously,” Stiles said, nodding grimly. “I don’t think she ever sleeps.” 

“Debatable,” Lydia said, shrugging. 

“What about you, Scotty?” Stiles asked as they climbed into the car, Stiles claiming shotgun. Lydia dropped her purse on the middle seat, her eyes lingering on the car seat strapped in next to her. “How’s Kira? How’s the kiddo?” 

“They’re great,” Scott said, his eyes shining as he backed out of the parking spot. “Kira’s awesome at this. I mean, we haven’t slept since he was born, but…” 

“Well, his cute little face makes up for it, I’m sure,” Stiles said as Scott turned onto the freeway.

“Are we still meeting Kira for lunch?” Lydia asked, looking away from the passing landscape outside the window. This drive used to be so familiar to her— now, each time she came home, she remembered less and less of it. 

“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding. “My mom’s watching Alex. Kira’s meeting us at the restaurant. I figured she would want to take a nap while I drove in to get you, while my mom had the baby.” 

An hour later, they were back in Beacon Hills, pulling into the parking lot of that pizza place downtown that the four of them used to frequent in high school, between supernatural disasters. Kira was already at a table when they walked in, and she immediately stood up, waving overenthusiastically. “Hi guys!” she said, pulling Lydia into a hug immediately, before releasing her and seizing Stiles. “It’s been forever,” she said, her eyes wide. She turned briefly into Scott, kissing him quickly in greeting before taking his hand, slipping into the booth next to him. Lydia tried to ignore that flare of jealousy in her stomach at their casual intimacy, the sudden sharp desire to have  _ that  _ with someone. Someone she felt that comfortable around. She meant what she said to her mom, months ago— she didn’t have time for dating, and she had plenty of time anyways, once she won her Field’s Medal. Still, she couldn't help but want what her friends had for herself sometimes. 

They chatted and caught up while they waited for their food, Kira whipping out her phone and showing them all the new pictures of Alex they’d taken. He really was a cutie— with Kira’s eyes and Scott’s crooked jaw, and what looked as if it would become a head full of floppy hair just like his dad’s had used to be. Scott talked about how finally working as a vet was going, Lydia filled them both in about progress her research team had made, and Stiles shared the details of a case that Lydia knew for a  _ fact  _ he really shouldn’t have been talking about. They fell silent once the pizzas came, aside from the occasional comment here or there. 

It wasn’t until they had practically finished their food that Scott fixed both Lydia and Stiles with a quizzical look. 

“Okay,” Scott started, eyes darting between the two of them. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I can’t take this anymore. You two smell… weird. Like you’re scheming.” He turned to Kira. “Is scheming an emotion?” 

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Kira said apologetically, looking at her husband. 

“Still,” Scott said, his gaze scrutinizing. “I can tell you’re up to something. What are you doing?” 

Stiles fixed Lydia with a pointed look. “I  _ told  _ you he was going to immediately figure it out.” 

“I never said that he  _ wouldn’t,”  _ Lydia insisted. 

“Figure out what?” Scott interjected, looking more and more confused. Lydia sighed. 

“Stiles and I are pretending to date each other so that my mother and his father— and my extended family, when we go to my cousin’s wedding on Christmas Eve— won’t continuously pester us about how we’re still single,” she explained.

“Oh,” Scott said, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Uh, that was  _ not  _ what I was expecting you to say.” 

“That seems… really drastic,” Kira said, her expression uneasy. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“It seems like a  _ lot  _ could go wrong,” Scott agreed. “How bad could it really be to put up with prying relatives’ questions for one night?”

“Scotty, you and Kira have been together since high school, and now you’ve got a kid, okay?” Stiles said. “You’ve got  _ no idea  _ how bad it is. Everyone giving you that sad, sympathetic look, like being single is the worst goddamned thing in the world. It’s  _ terrible.”  _

“It’s only for a week,” Lydia added. “And I barely ever see my extended family. By the next family wedding, or whatever, they’ll have completely forgotten. And we’ll just tell our parents we broke up before the next time we come home.” 

“I don’t know,” Scott said, sharing a look with Kira. “That still seems like a really bad plan.” 

“Don’t worry about it, okay, Scott?” Stiles insisted. “All you have to do is keep quiet about it for a week. We’ve got everything under control.” 

“Okay,” Scott agreed, although Lydia could still hear the apprehension in his voice. “But when everything falls apart and goes completely wrong, I want no part of the fallout.” 

“It’s not going to fall apart,” Lydia insisted. She glanced at Stiles, and he caught her eye, grinning. She turned back to their friends, her voice sure. 

“We’re going to pull it off. And it’s going to go  _ perfectly.”  _

***

Lydia could tell from the look on Stiles’s face that he was already starting to panic. 

“Stiles,” she said, trying to snap him back to reality. “Come on. Focus. We can do this.” 

“What if we can’t?” he responded, expression skeptical. “What if Scott was right? What if we’re  _ way  _ over our heads here?” 

“Well, it’s too late, because I already told her we’re dating,” Lydia said. “It’s just my mom. Relax. This is the woman who continued believing the supernatural wasn’t real after seeing an actual  _ kanima.  _ I think we can convince her we’re together with  _ minimal  _ effort.” 

“Lydia,” he said, his eyes suddenly softer, imploring. “What if this is a mistake?” 

“It’s not,” she assured him, standing up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Now come on, she’s waiting for us.” 

Before Stiles could say anything else in protest, Lydia grabbed his hand, pulling her front door open and leading him inside. “Mom, Stiles is here!” she called, tugging him into the kitchen. 

“Stiles!” Natalie said, turning away from the stove and moving to hug him. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, honey.” 

“Nice to see you too, Ms. Martin,” he said, his smile an adorable mix between nervous and charming. 

“I’m glad you were  _ finally  _ able to make it over here,” Natalie said, turning back to the oven, picking up a pan of steaming lasagna and carrying it over to the dinner table. 

“We’ve only been home two days, Mom,” Lydia said, trying to keep the exasperated tone out of her voice. 

“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” Natalie continued, ignoring Lydia’s comment. Stiles slid into the seat next to Lydia, shooting her another glance, his eyes apprehensive still. She took his hand under the table, squeezing it tightly, and she hoped he could hear her words behind the action:  _ we’re going to pull this off. _

They made it about halfway through dinner while managing to keep on other topics— Stiles’s work, Lydia’s research, Natalie’s job as principal. It wasn’t until Stiles was helping himself to another portion of lasagna that Natalie began. 

“So,” she said, eyebrows arching in a manner  _ scarily  _ similar to Lydia. “You two are together now.” 

“Yep,” Stiles immediately responded, shooting Lydia a look. “Yes, we are. Indeed.” 

“Before you complain about me not telling you sooner, it’s only been three months,” Lydia interjected, cutting Stiles off before he could nervously babble any more. “I didn’t want to say anything while it was still so new, in case things didn’t work out.” 

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Stiles muttered, taking a sip of his water. Lydia rolled her eyes at him, turning back to her mother. 

“So,” Natalie repeated. “How did this happen? I want to hear all about it.” 

Lydia glanced at Stiles, and he gestured spastically with his free hand, indicating that she could talk. “Well, we’ve been spending a lot more time together lately,” Lydia began, launching into their rehearsed response— she’d seen The Proposal enough times to know to come up with a fake backstory for them. “And then one night, we went out to dinner and were walking around Faneuil Hall afterwards, and I realized that there was really no other way I wanted to spend the rest of my nights. No one else I’d rather be with all the time.”

“And I, of course, have been in love with her since the start of time,” Stiles interjected, and Lydia smiled sweetly at him. 

“And we just sort of… fell together,” Lydia finished.  “It was really easy.” 

“It’s sort of like nothing’s changed,” Stiles added, and she looked at him sharply, alarmed at his ad-libbing. But Stiles was just looking at Natalie, his gaze determined. “We’re still best friends. We’re just… more, now, I guess. It just feels right.” 

“That is so sweet,” Natalie crooned, fixing the two of them with a look that just oozed happiness. “Oh, I’m so glad you two found your way together. And just in time for the holidays.” 

Stiles raised his eyebrows, finally glancing at Lydia, and she met his gaze distractedly. His words were still repeating in her head.  _ It’s sort of like nothing’s changed.  _ The skepticism in his eyes immediately shifted, morphing into concern, and when he squeezed her hand underneath the table, she could hear him asking her:  _ are you okay?  _

She nodded slightly, shaking it off, trying to focus again. The rest of dinner passed in a haze, the two of them expertly answering her nosy mother’s questions with no complications. Before she knew it, she was back on the porch with Stiles, after her mother insisted that she show him out so they could say goodbye privately. 

“That went well,” Stiles said the second they were alone, the front door closed tightly. “Right? I think it went well. Sorry I kind of ad-libbed at the beginning; I was nervous, and you know how I can’t stop talking when I’m nervous—” 

“I know,” Lydia said, smirking. “It’s okay. That was perfect. My mom totally bought it.” 

“Good,” Stiles said, sighing in relief. “Well, now we just have to convince the rest of your family.” 

“Trust me, we will be doing as little interaction as necessary with them at this wedding,” Lydia assured him. “I’m just glad you’ll be there with me.” 

“Hey, free booze, right?” Stiles said, his lips quirking up in that familiar half-grin. 

“Right,” Lydia answered, her voice soft. 

“Well, I better get going,” Stiles said. “Thanks for dinner.” 

“Anytime, boyfriend,” Lydia replied, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” She watched as Stiles turned and walked down her driveway, climbing into his ridiculous old Jeep that she couldn’t  _ believe  _ still ran, waving once more as he pulled out onto the street. She let herself into the house, padding upstairs to her old high school bedroom, glancing around at the room that hadn’t changed a bit since she left for Boston. Other people probably would have cleared their kids’ rooms out immediately, but in this enormous house, with Lydia’s mom all by herself— there was no need. Her eye caught on one of the pictures tacked to her bulletin board, wedged between an old picture of her and Allison sophomore year and a group shot from graduation day. It was of Lydia and Stiles, arms around each other, their eyes lit up as they laughed on the dock of her lake house, the sunlight making her hair look fiery. It had to be from senior year of high school, or maybe the summer after freshman year of college— they looked so young in it. It struck Lydia that it had really been almost ten years since they’d graduated from high school. But looking at that photo, it was hard to see what had changed since then. 

She pushed it from her mind, digging pajamas out of her suitcase and getting ready for bed in her old bathroom. When she finally climbed into bed, pulling her blankets up to her chin to ward off the cold, her eye caught that photo again. 

Stiles’s word from earlier found their way back into her brain, and as she drifted off, they chased each other in loops, relentless and persistent. 

_ It’s sort of like nothing’s changed.  _

***

“I’m scared to ask.”

The amount of dread in Scott’s expression was completely uncalled for, Stiles thought. Seriously, with all the plans they’d come up with in high school to battle off supernatural creatures, this one should  _ really  _ be the least of Scott’s worries.

“Why are you automatically assuming it went bad?” Stiles asked.

“It didn’t?” Scott said, his eyebrows raised. Stiles scoffed at his best friend, shaking his head at the other man’s lack of trust. 

“Come on, Scott. It’s me and  _ Lydia.  _ We always come up with the  _ best  _ of the plans out of all of us.” 

“See, when you say ‘the best of the plans,’ I feel like you’re forgetting that my  _ very  _ shitty plans have set the bar extremely low for you.” 

“Minute details,” Stiles insisted. “The plan is going  _ perfectly,  _ thank you for asking. Lydia’s mom totally bought it. So did my dad, when I told him.” 

Scott sat up on the couch, shooting Stiles a look. “And you’re  _ totally  _ fine lying to your dad about this?” 

Damn Scott; he knew Stiles too well. It hadn’t exactly been the best feeling in the world to see his dad’s face light up when he told him the news, watch as his grin grew wider and he told Stiles, “Finally, huh? You’ve been waiting for her to catch up for years.” Because he had. For so,  _ so  _ long he had been waiting for Lydia to catch on to how she felt. Realize that she felt just as strongly for him as he did for her. But that had never happened, and while Stiles was glad with their relationship as it was now— there was that sinking feeling of rejection and acceptance, ingrained in him ever since high school. 

“I…” Stiles hesitated, sighing. “I wish I didn’t have to lie to him. But, in order for the plan to work, we had to tell Lydia’s mom, and we couldn’t have my dad  _ not  _ know.” Here in the silence of Scott and Kira’s living room, they could talk about this openly. Lydia and Kira had gone out dress shopping, because Lydia insisted she didn’t have something suitable for the wedding, though Stiles found that highly unlikely. Scott and he had been left on baby duty, but Alex was down for his afternoon nap right now, sleeping soundly in the nursery down the hall. 

“Why did you even agree to this plan?” Scott asked. “Is your dad really  _ that  _ bad with the pestering?” 

“No,” Stiles admitted. “He’ll bring it up occasionally, but it’s nothing like Lydia’s mom.” 

“So that’s why you agreed,” Scott said, smug. 

Stiles groaned. “Yeah, that’s why I agreed. Because it’s frickin’  _ Lydia,  _ and I don’t know how to say no to her. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Yes,” Scott said, his expression grim. “Because that’s why I think this is a horrible plan.” 

“Why? Because I agreed to help my friend?” 

“No,” Scott said emphatically. “Because you’re still in love with her.” 

At that, Stiles actually laughed. “I’m sorry. _ What?”  _ he asked. “You think I’m still in love with Lydia?” 

“I  _ know  _ you are, Stiles,” Scott insisted. Stiles couldn’t help laughing again, looking at his friend in amusement. Scott’s expression didn’t change, though— that insistent, truth-bearing look in his eyes remained. 

“Dude, you’re the one who can smell emotions here. You should know that’s not true.” 

“That’s why I’m saying it is true,” Scott responded. “Because I can literally  _ smell  _ that you love her.” 

“Well, you’re wrong,” Stiles told him. “I don’t love Lydia. I mean, I  _ do,  _ but not how you’re insinuating I do. I love her because she’s my best friend. Almost like a sister, really.” 

Now Scott laughed. “Okay, even without my werewolf senses, I can tell that’s absolute bullshit.” 

“Scott,” Stiles said. “Seriously. I know I  _ used _ to be in love with Lydia, but I’ve been over that for  _ years.  _ I haven’t been in love with her like  _ that  _ since college. Ever since we graduated, we’ve just been best friends.” 

“Really?” Scott asked, still skeptical. 

_“Yes,”_ Stiles insisted. “Okay? And I’m _glad._ Because I spent practically my entire life waiting for her to one day realize how she felt about me, and she _never_ did. Not when I told her I loved her, not when she opened a portal to another _dimension_ to save me. Not when she was the only one who still remembered me when I was literally erased from existence. And eventually, I just…  I couldn’t do it any more. I was so frigging sick of waiting.” 

Scott was looking at him now, whatever he had been going to say clearly forgotten. Stiles looked away, regretting everything he’d just said, because Scott was giving him that  _ look _ — that soft, sympathetic look that everyone always bestowed upon him before telling him  _ don’t worry, you’ll find someone someday.  _ And that had been the whole point of this plan— that they wouldn’t have to deal with  _ that.  _

“Stop it, Scott,” Stiles said, making a face. “Okay? You don’t have to feel sorry or anything. It all happened for a reason. And I’m really glad we’re where we are now. She’s my best friend.” Scott threw him a wounded glare, and Stiles couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re my  _ brother.  _ Both literally and figuratively.” 

“I still think this is a bad plan,” Scott said, just as Alex began to cry from the nursery. Scott stood up, heading for the hall to go calm down his son. 

“It’s gonna be fine, Scotty,” Stiles called after his retreating friend’s back, his voice certain. “Really. It’s all going to be fine.” 

***

The resort where Anna was having her wedding was  _ enormous.  _

“Holy  _ god,”  _ Stiles muttered as Lydia pulled into the circular drive— she had point-blank refused to let him drive them here in his Jeep. “This place is enormous.” 

“Good,” Lydia said, parking the car, valets immediately rushing over. “Hopefully that means we’ll see less of my family.” 

Stiles laughed as a bellhop loaded their bags onto a luggage cart, pushing it into the lobby. Lydia shivered in her coat, the December night air freezing. She could see her breath in the lights from the hotel’s overhanging canopy, sparkling in the frozen air. Stiles immediately draped one arm over her shoulders, pulling her in closer to him and rubbing his hand up and down her back to warm her up. They followed the bellhops into the lobby, and while Lydia sighed in relief at the rush of warm air that washed over them, Stiles didn’t move his arm. 

The lobby was gorgeous, all golden marbles and gleaming wood, decorated to the nines for Christmas. A tree that had to be fifteen feet tall stood in the center below a crystal chandelier, the tree decorated with a myriad of twinkling lights and glittering ornaments, red ribbons cascading down the sides in perfect curls. Lydia did have to say— as much as she didn’t want to be here, her cousin did have taste. 

Stiles guided her over to the front desk, the two of them approaching one of the available receptionists. “Hi,” Lydia said in greeting. “I’m here for Anna Martin’s wedding? The room should be under Lydia.” 

“Yes, I have it right here,” the receptionist responded. With a too-wide smile, she handed Lydia a pair of room keys. “Room 609; elevators are just to the left.” 

“Thank you,” Lydia said, taking the keys and returning the grin with a fraction of this woman’s enthusiasm. Stiles almost laughed at her as they walked towards the elevator, but he didn’t say anything, the comfortable silence washing over them instead.

Their bags were already in the room when they got there, and Lydia once again had to admit that this hotel was very nice. She wasn’t sure if it was purposely Christmassy, but the red and gold color scheme certainly gave it a warm, festive feel. She let her eyes roam the room, taking in the flat screen TV, the spacious closet, the adjoined bathroom, before her eyes settled on the single, queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

“Oh,” Lydia said, her words catching in her throat. “I must have RSVP’d as just one person in June. I didn’t think I’d have a guest.” 

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, shaking his head slightly, shooting her a grin. “Seriously. This carpet looks pretty comfy anyways.” 

Lydia couldn’t help it, she laughed. Rolling her eyes at him, she reached for her bag, tugging out her dress for the wedding tomorrow and hanging it in the closet. “Oh, I got you a tie,” Lydia said, moving back to her bag, getting out her dress for tonight. 

“What? I own ties,” Stiles defended. Lydia laughed. 

“I know, but they had one the same exact shade of red as my dress. I thought it would be festive. And we’ll match.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Oh my god, it was a tie, not a three piece suit,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “It’s  _ fine.  _ Now come on, we have to go down to the rehearsal dinner in half an hour.” 

“Ugh, rehearsal dinner?” Stiles said, flopping backwards on the bed. “You did not mention that when I agreed to this.” 

“We don’t have to be there for the rehearsal, just the dinner,” Lydia assured him. “And don’t worry, we’re going to be as far away from my family as possible.” 

Lydia grabbed her makeup bag, retreating to the bathroom to touch up her curls and fix her makeup. She could hear Stiles getting ready in the other room, and she had to keep herself from laughing as he swore at his tie, biting her lip to prevent herself from stabbing her eye with the mascara brush. 

“Stiles, can you bring me my dress?” she asked, rummaging through her bag for the right shade of lipstick. “The black one, not the red one.” 

“Yep,” Stiles said, appearing in the doorway a second later, handing over the hanger. He shut the door behind him as Lydia stripped out of her skirt and shirt, stepping into the dress and pulling it up.

“Wait, come back,” she called, and Stiles opened the door again in a heartbeat. “Zip me?” 

Wordlessly, Stiles pulled the zipper closed, his fingers brushing momentarily over her spine, sending shivers through her body. Lydia tried to ignore it, brush it off as the cold, but as soon as the dress was zipped, Stiles’s hands hanging by his sides again, that shock of electricity vanished. 

Lydia turned back to the mirror, smoothing down the front of the dress and staring at her reflection. She squinted at the deep v neckline, her brows furrowing. 

“What?” Stiles asked. “You look great.” 

“It’s the neckline,” she told him. “This dress needs a necklace. I wish I still had my old one.” The necklace she’d been wearing since her high school graduation, a tiny arrow pendant suspended on a delicate silver chain, had broken about four months ago, and Lydia had yet to replace it. She still wore her arrow ring on her ring finger, but the necklace chain had snapped, and she hadn’t decided if she wanted to fix it or get something new yet.

“Why don’t you just buy a new necklace?” Stiles asked. 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. That one was for Allison. And I have my ring, so I don’t necessarily need another arrow necklace. But I want it to be something with meaning. Not just some piece of jewelry. It has to be important to me.” She shook her head— there was nothing she could do about her lack of necklace now. “You ready?” she asked, surveying him. He nodded, slipping his hands into his dress pants pockets. He’d clearly won the earlier battle with his tie, as it was done perfectly now, his white button down cuffed and rolled up to his elbows, showing off the toned muscle in his forearms. 

“Ready to meet your crazy family?” Stiles asked, his smile certain. “Definitely.” 

***

The rehearsal dinner was in the hotel restaurant, which made Lydia’s promise that they weren’t going to have to speak with her family in-depth tonight much easier to keep. They said a brief hello to Lydia’s mom and offered Anna their congratulations, before retreating to a little table for two in the corner of the hall. A waiter brought them menus and champagne while Christmas music played in the background, and Stiles watched as Lydia took a gulp. 

“They don’t seem that bad,” Stiles offered, surveying the restaurant packed full of her relatives. 

Lydia laughed humorlessly. “Just wait until tomorrow. We need to avoid my Great-Aunt Marlene at all costs; she gets grabby when she’s drunk. And my Uncle Billy doesn’t think women have any place working in science, so.” 

“Well, on second thought, I’m just going to trust you on this one.” 

Lydia raised her eyebrows again, shooting him a mischievous smirk. “Good plan.” 

She fell silent, taking another sip of champagne and surveying the room. “It seems weird that Anna’s getting married,” she confessed. “I haven’t seen her since my high school graduation party, probably. I know I’ve gotten older too, but she still seems stuck at sixteen in my mind.” 

“You’re not that close?” Stiles asked. He vaguely remembered seeing the blonde bride at Lydia’s graduation party, in what seemed like a different lifetime, huddled with the rest of her family. Lydia shook her head slightly, answering Stiles’s question wordlessly. 

“She’s on my dad’s side of the family,” Lydia said. “Everyone here is. My mom and I don’t see them much.” She shrugged, her eyes growing contemplative. “Out of everyone here, my mom is probably closest with Anna’s mom. My dad’s younger sister.” 

“Is your dad coming?” Stiles asked. He knew it was a sore subject, as Lydia’s father had a serious habit of missing literally every single important event in his daughter’s life, but he wanted to know— just so that if he was, Stiles could be there for Lydia tomorrow.

Lydia scoffed, shaking her head.  _ “Please.  _ He’s skiing in the Swiss Alps with his new family.” Stiles didn’t miss the bitterness in her tone. He knew, objectively, that her dad had remarried a woman with two kids of her own, but he wasn’t sure Lydia had ever met her step siblings. Or her stepmom, for that matter. “They go every Christmas,” she added. “He sends me a card from there with my Christmas present— two hundred dollars, cash. I don’t even get a painfully awkward phone call, like on my birthday,” she said, smirking. Stiles could see, though, behind the carefully-constructed facade, she was much more hurt by her dad’s actions than she was letting on. 

Their food came just then, successfully distracting Lydia from their current topic of conversation. They chatted about much more trivial things over their food, teasing and laughing and just enjoying each other’s company. Stiles stole a bite of Lydia’s risotto, dodging her counterstrike with her fork, and Stiles couldn’t help the warm, bubbly feeling spreading through his chest when she laughed in delight, eyes incredulous as he ate all the risotto in one bite, moaning dramatically as it hit his tongue, because damn, this restaurant had really good food. 

He swallowed, catching Lydia’s eyes again, and the affectionate shine to her eyes made his heart speed up involuntarily. 

“What?” he demanded. Lydia just shook her head, her green eyes still illuminated in a way that Stiles generally didn’t see. 

“I’m just really glad that you’re here with me,” she confessed, giving him a slight smile, pressing her lips together, her eyes fixed on his. He just nodded, smiling smally back at her, his heart thumping. 

That moment was all it took for him to realize that Scott had been completely, one-hundred-percent right. The realization hit him like a freight train, fueled by the soft look in Lydia’s eyes and the small, secret curve of her smile. 

Stiles was in love with Lydia. 

His mind was going a mile a minute, somehow unable to form coherent thoughts other than one singular sentence, caught on endless repeat:  _ I’m in love with Lydia. I’m in love with Lydia. I’m in love with Lydia.  _ He wasn't sure what exactly had triggered it— it might have been the restaurant, the fact that they were at a wedding together, the way Lydia’s strawberry blonde curls tumbled down her back perfectly, the shine of her eyes as she looked at him like he was the only thing here that really mattered to her. Years of denying this, years of shoving down feelings and insisting they didn’t exist until he’d reached the point where he actually  _ believed  _ they didn’t— all those years seemed pointless, because all of a sudden, Stiles was back in high school, sitting on a dirty locker room floor with a wonderstruck look on his face as the literal girl of his dreams gazed back at him like the sun had just come out. Because Lydia was looking at him the same exact way now, this girl who had started as an infatuation and become one of his best friends in the entire world, someone he loved and cared for and respected, and Stiles was honestly disappointed in himself for ever thinking he could exist in a world where he wasn’t in love with Lydia Martin. 

“Are you okay?” Lydia asked, her expression now one of concern, and it was enough to snap Stiles back to reality. “You look like you just had an epiphany, or something.” 

Stiles laughed nervously, not sure why he was surprised that Lydia could literally read him like a book. “I’m fine,” he assured her, heart still pounding too fast. Thank god she wasn’t a werewolf. “And I’m glad I’m here too.” 

“Lydia!” Natalie’s voice echoed across the restaurant, and Lydia turned to face her mother. “Come here quick, sweetie.” 

“Sorry,” she said, standing and laying her napkin neatly next to her plate. 

“No, no worries,” Stiles said, heart still in his throat. He glanced at his cell phone in his palm, screen blank. “I, uh, have a missed call from work. I’ll be right back.”

Stumbling, he hurried out of the restaurant, coming face to face with the towering Christmas tree in the lobby again. He darted around it, nerves shot, body jittery, searching for somewhere where he could appropriately freak out about his revelation. 

Finally he found an empty corridor on the opposite side of the lobby, far enough from the restaurant that he didn’t think Lydia would come looking for him over here. Without hesitation, he opened up his contacts, finding the one he wanted and hitting call. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be charming Lydia’s family right now?” Scott said, not even bothering with a hello. 

“Yeah, we’ve got a problem,” Stiles responded. “A serious code red. As in, this was possibly the worst idea ever.” 

“What happened?” Scott asked, voice suddenly concerned. 

“Oh, you know,” Stiles said. “Nothing big. We checked in. We got dinner. I realized that I’m totally still in love with Lydia.” 

Stiles waited with bated breath for Scott’s response, but it didn’t come— dead silence echoed from the other line. “Scott?” he asked, voice slightly panicky. “Buddy, you there? Say something,  _ please.”  _

“Hold on,” Scott said, voice contemplative. “I’m trying to remember… you said something to me in high school once. That you shouldn’t say I told you so to me, because it wasn’t strong enough? So instead you said that you’re always right, and I should listen to whatever you have to say and never disagree, ever, for the sake of my wolflihood?” He paused. “Do you remember that?” 

“Would you buy that I’m a little scared that you  _ do?”  _

“I  _ told  _ you, Stiles,” Scott said, the smugness in his voice palpable. “I  _ told  _ you that you were still in love with her.” 

“And I didn’t believe you, and I’m a dumbass, yes, okay. I get it.” His hands flailed, even though Scott couldn’t see him. “Can we skip to the part where you  _ help  _ me?” 

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Scott said. “You’re in love with her. You can’t just make that go away,  _ clearly.”  _

Stiles groaned. “Well, that doesn’t fix the fact that I’m currently stuck in a hotel with her and her entire family, and that I’m supposed to spend the next two days pretending to be her frickin’  _ boyfriend!”  _

“Again, Stiles,” Scott reiterated. “Not much I can do. You’re the one who told me this was a foolproof plan.” 

“And clearly I was wrong.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of strawberry blonde; turning towards the restaurant entrance, he saw Lydia waiting, one hand nervously playing with the hem of her black dress. When she met his gaze across the room, she immediately relaxed, her smile growing slightly as she walked towards him.

“I gotta go,” he told Scott, eyes still locked with Lydia’s. 

“Good luck,” Scott said, the laugh in his voice barely contained as he hung up. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, jogging across the lobby, meeting Lydia halfway, both of them pausing in front of the Christmas tree. “Sorry. Just a quick work thing.” 

“Everything okay?” Lydia asked. 

Stiles nodded, wishing there was some truth to his words. 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. ”

***

Lydia was exhausted by the time the rehearsal dinner was over. 

They’d managed to avoid any intense mingling with most of her family, aside from the couple moments that her mother had pulled her over to talk with Anna’s mom— and Lydia actually liked her Aunt Helen; she was probably the least crazy out of all of them. 

Regardless, when she and Stiles returned to the hotel room, they were both sleepy, stomachs stuffed with delicious food, the warm atmosphere of the hotel and the soft lights placating. Lydia kicked off her heels the moment they stepped into the room, the carpet soft under her toes. 

“Well, that was better than I expected,” Stiles offered, untying his tie. Lydia shrugged. 

“I guess. Get ready, tomorrow’s going to be  _ significantly  _ worse.” She paused, fiddling with the  back of her dress. “Can you unzip me?” 

“Sure,” Stiles said, but something was off in his voice. He’d been a little jumpy ever since he’d called work— he’d been acting less casual, less comfortable, like something was bothering him. Lydia had already asked if everything was okay, to which he insisted it was, but she could tell something was wrong. As his fingers brushed her bare back, she hoped more than anything she hadn’t done something to put him on edge. 

When Stiles stepped away, she thanked him, grabbing her pajamas and retreating to the bathroom. In the shower she scrubbed off her makeup, washed the careful curls out of her hair, before drying herself off with one of the hotel’s  _ insanely  _ plush towels and and brushing out her long locks, the water making the strawberry blonde color almost copper. 

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom, Stiles was already in his pajamas, spreading a spare blanket out on the floor, his hand leaning back on his beloved old pillow he’d brought from home. 

“I’m sorry,” Lydia said again. “Seriously. I would have gotten a room with two beds.” 

“It’s fine, Lydia, really,” Stiles insisted, laying down and tugging the blanket over himself. “This carpet’s actually very plush.” 

She snorted at his teasing tone of voice, climbing into the queen sized bed, pulling the deep red comforter up to her chin. She turned onto her side, feeling like the massive bed was swallowing her whole. 

She laid there silently for a few minute, indecisive, before she finally said, exasperated: “This is ridiculous.” 

“What?” Stiles said, and she could tell from his voice he was just as awake as she was. 

“This bed is enormous,” Lydia said. “Get up here. We can share this, easily.” 

“I really don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Stiles offered, voice slightly meek. 

“No,” Lydia insisted, her mind made up. “That makes no sense. It’s only two nights. Get in the damn bed.” 

Wordlessly, Stiles stood, grabbing his pillow and tugging down his t-shirt where it rode up. Lydia tried not to stare at the way the fabric pulled across his broad shoulders as he clambered into the bed, arranging himself so there was a good three feet of space between them. 

“Well, get lots of sleep,” Lydia offered, trying to keep her voice steady. She was right, obviously— the bed was enormous, and it made perfect sense for them to share it. They could  _ easily  _ make it through the night without ever coming into contact with each other. But something about this seemed more charged— that three feet of space in between them simultaneously felt like too much room, but also not enough. 

“We’re going to need it tomorrow,” she finished, and Stiles turned in bed, facing her. His eyes were so warm in the dim lighting, flecks of gold visible in his whiskey irises. Her breath caught a little bit, the intimacy of this situation making her heart beat a little faster. 

“Good night, then,” he told her, smiling slightly. She reached over and flicked off the singular lamp, and the room went dark, the only light the soft glow under the doorway from the hall. 

She drifted off to sleep almost immediately, regardless of who she was currently sharing a bed with— she was still tired, and this bed was  _ really  _ comfy. The blankets were warm, the room still and quiet, and before she knew it she was lost to the world. 

Lydia didn’t generally wake up in the middle of the night, so she wasn’t exactly sure why she did this time. Blinking sleepily, she peered at the clock— four a.m. They still had a few hours before they had to wake up for the morning. Lydia sighed, leaning back into the warmth of the bed, and maybe it was because she was so tired, or because she was sleeping in a room that wasn’t hers, but— it took her a minute to realize that she wasn’t leaning into the warm sheets, she was leaning into Stiles. 

She froze at that, her heart speeding up a little as he shifted in his sleep, the arm he had slung across her waist subconsciously pulling her closer, her body snuggled against his chest. His palm was heavy on her stomach, his breath tickling her cheek, and Lydia could feel his warmth radiating through his t-shirt, making her even more unwilling to escape his arms. 

_ I can’t move,  _ she tried to rationalize to herself.  _ Stiles is a light sleeper, and he still barely ever gets good sleep, with the nightmares.  _ They always got worse around the first week or so of November, and Lydia had spent many nights sitting with him in his apartment at three a.m, trying to calm him down after terrifying nightmares of the Nogitsune haunted him. 

If she moved now, she could wake him, and she didn’t want to do that— not when he was sleeping so well. Stiles shifted in his sleep, slightly, his legs tangling with hers as he buried his nose in her hair, sighing. “Ly’ia,” he mumbled sleepily, and she tried to ignore the flutter in her chest at the thought that Stiles was dreaming of her. 

_ It’s just one night,  _ she rationalized.  _ And he’s sleeping. It doesn’t mean anything.  _ It was comfortable, being in Stiles’s arms. Warm. Almost familiar. 

Lydia snuggled her head into the crook of his neck, drawing closer to him as she closed her eyes, before drifting off again. 

***

Lydia didn’t think she’d ever seen so many people wearing red before. 

In their defense, Anna had specified on the invitation that dress was to be formal and festive. And it did look very festive— the audience during the ceremony was a sea of deep red and foresty green, dotted with a couple whites and a few pale golds. It complimented the elegant Christmas floral arrangements at the end of each row of chairs, garlands of pine snaking around the perimeter of the room, the windows adorned in glittering wreaths. Anna’s bridesmaids looked very festive in their red dresses, their white poinsettia bouquets contrasting with Anna’s red one. 

Stiles’s red tie looked very nice on him, sharply contrasting with his white button down. And it did match the color of her dress perfectly, Lydia noted, running her fingers over the delicate lace of the neckline. They sat together in one of the middle rows of seats, right next to Lydia’s mom, and when Stiles grabbed her hand halfway through the ceremony, playing with her fingers absentmindedly, she didn’t shy away. She thought about last night, the feel of those fingers against her spine as he unzipped her dress, the warmth of his palm heavy on her stomach as he’d tugged her body into his as they slept. Gently, she squeezed his hand, and Stiles squeezed back, letting her know that he was there. 

The ceremony was, for the most part, short and sweet— before they knew it Anna was kissing her husband and everyone was clapping as her bridesmaids filed down the aisle, hotel staff appearing to usher everyone into the adjacent ballroom. Knowing her cousin, there was sure to be an hour long photo shoot before the reception could truly start, so Lydia made a beeline for the bar, tugging Stiles with her. 

Lydia smiled at the bartender as she placed her order, knowing that if she was going to successfully get through the rest of this day, she was going to need lots of alcohol. Stiles seemed to be on the same page, because he ordered a drink equally as strong, grinning when the bartender handed it over. 

“Don’t forget, this is the real reason I’m here,” Stiles joked, taking a sip as Lydia took her drink. 

“I did promise free booze,” she said. “And believe me, you’re going to need it to get through meeting my family.” 

“I feel like you’re making them out to be  _ way  _ worse than they really are,” Stiles said. “Are they a bunch of axe murderers, or something? Or serial killers?” His eyes widened. “Are they all part of a cult?” 

Lydia huffed in laughter, shooting him a hint of a smile as they worked their way to their table assignment. “No. They’re just… a little much. A  _ lot  _ much, actually.” 

“First off, that’s definitely not proper grammar, and second,” he said, “we’ve dealt with human sacrifices and Dread Doctors and frickin’  _ Ghost Riders.  _ How bad could this be in comparison?” 

“Believe me,” Lydia said, locating their seats. “I would rather deal with Ghost Riders.” 

Anna seemed to have gone easy on them with seating arrangements— the only other people at their table was her mom, a couple Lydia didn’t know, and three friends of Anna’s mom. Her mom fixed her with a pointed glare the second she laid eyes on them; Lydia could practically  _ hear  _ her demanding that Lydia go be social and say hi to her relatives. 

Lydia took another gulp of her drink before placing it down on the table, turning to Stiles. “You ready?” she asked, not entirely sure  _ she  _ was. His response was automatic, though, his smile easy as he nodded his head. 

“I was  _ born  _ ready,” he assured her, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. 

“I seriously doubt that,” she said, taking his hand in hers. He looked a little taken aback, so she just raised an eyebrow at him, whispering, “Ready,  _ boyfriend?”  _

“Of course, girlfriend,” he responded, regaining his composure and allowing her to pull him towards her family. 

***

In hindsight, Stiles probably should have been more scared than he was. 

Right now, though, Lydia was holding his hand, and that was sort of the only thing he could focus on. Well, besides how nice her ass looked in that dress. Not to say that it didn’t  _ always  _ look nice. But Stiles was about eighty-seven percent sure that had chosen this particular dress with the sole intent of slowly driving him crazy. Not that  _ that  _ made any sense either, because he wasn’t supposed to be in love with her and they were supposed to be best friends. 

“Lydia!” a voice echoed, and before Stiles had another minute to prepare, they were going in. 

“Hi, Aunt Marlene,” Lydia said to the old woman approaching them, wincing as she pinched Lydia’s cheeks in a manner that Stiles was pretty sure was supposed to be affectionate. 

_ Grabby aunt. Right. _

“Oh, sweetie, you look so grown up!” her aunt crooned. “And you’ve gotten taller!” 

“Well, I’m twenty seven,” Lydia offered, as Stiles tried to contain his laughter, because Lydia had not grown an inch since high school. Aunt Marlene rested a hand on Lydia’s shoulder, and Stiles could see her stiffen under the other woman’s touch. Wordlessly, he snaked his arm around her waist, resting his hand on her side, stroking up and down with his thumb. 

“So how have you been?” Lydia’s aunt asked. “What have you been doing?” 

“I finished my PhD,” Lydia said. “And my research team at MIT is making substantial progress on solving the Riemann hypothesis.” 

“That’s nice,” her aunt said placidly, turning her focus instead to Stiles. “And who is this, sweetheart?” 

Stiles could practically feel her deflate. “This is my boyfriend, Stiles.” 

A little jolt went through him at Lydia’s words— objectively, he knew that was why he was here, but it still sent his heart into overdrive to hear her call him her  _ boyfriend.  _ Lydia’s aunt lit up, the blasé look on her face disappearing as her smile widened. 

_ “Boyfriend?”  _ her aunt said. “Oh, how nice to meet you, young man! Lydia, he’s handsome, what a catch!” 

Lydia offered her aunt a tight-lipped smile, and Stiles could tell she was fighting to keep her composure. It was that same look she used to get in high school when she had to bite back some response to downplay her intelligence. It had been so long since Stiles had seen that look— his heart ached a little, seeing her look like that now. 

He was so busy staring at Lydia that he  _ completely  _ missed her aunt’s next question. It wasn’t until both women were looking at him expectantly, Lydia’s lips tugged upwards in the barest hint of a smile, that he realized someone had said something. 

“Sorry, what?” Stiles said, blinking at the two of them. Lydia found his other hand, squeezing it. 

“I asked what you do for a living, honey,” Aunt Marlene asked. 

“He works for the FBI, in Boston,” Lydia supplied. “Although  _ clearly  _ his attention skills leave something to be desired.” 

Stiles grinned at her, glad that the fragile look in her eyes was gone now. Instead, they were shining, a hint of affection hidden behind those beautiful green irises, mixed in with flecks of gold. 

“It’s a wonder I’m able to solve any cases,” Stiles said, shrugging. Aunt Marlene smiled fondly at him, reaching out and squeezing his cheek like she had done to Lydia earlier. Stiles tried to disguise his startled yelp as a cough— that woman had a grip of  _ steel.  _

“Oh, you two are  _ adorable,”  _ her aunt crooned, her smile sickly sweet. “I’ll see you two later, okay?” 

The second she was gone Stiles dropped Lydia’s hand, rubbing his throbbing cheek.  _ “Jesus,”  _ he said, voice low, and Lydia laughed. “Who is that woman? The frickin’  _ Hulk?”  _

Slowly, they made their way through more of her relatives: aunts, uncles, cousins, all of them delighted to be introduced to Lydia’s boyfriend. The two of them fell into an easy routine of affectionate banter, Stiles’s hand permanently fixed on Lydia’s waist. While most of her family was excited to hear all about their relationship, one of Lydia’s cousins was majoring in applied mathematics and was actually interested in hearing about her research. Lydia jumped at the chance, launching into an enthusiastic explanation of what her team had accomplished. Stiles just stood there, watching her talk with what was probably the most obviously lovestruck expression on his face. But he really couldn’t help it— he _loved_ hearing Lydia talk about math. The way her face lit up, the way she rattled off long, abstract theorems like it was nothing— god, she was _so_ smart. And Stiles was so unbelievably proud of her, listening to her list off her accomplishments. 

Her cousin wandered away at some point, and Lydia turned to look at him, her brow furrowing as she caught him before he was able to rearrange his facial features into something much more neutral. 

“What?” she demanded, a slight smile playing at the corner of her lips. Stiles just shook his head, not exactly sure how to articulate what he was thinking. 

“Nothing,” he told her, and she fixed him with an incredulous look. “I just really like hearing you talk about your research.” She almost laughed, but he continued. “You’re really frickin’ smart, you know?” 

“I know,” she said, beaming at him. “That’s why I’m going to win the Field’s Medal before I turn thirty.”  

“I have no doubt of that,” Stiles told her. He surveyed the room again, looking over her entire family. 

“It’s going well, though,” Lydia told him, taking his hand again. “Everyone seems to be buying it.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, nodding. “My acting is spot-on.” Lydia laughed at that. In all seriousness, though— pretending to be in love with Lydia for her entire family while simultaneously pretending  _ not  _ to be in love with Lydia for  _ her,  _ while  _ actually  _ being in love with Lydia was starting to make him a little dazed. If he made it through tonight, he deserved a goddamned Oscar. 

Anna and her bridal party finally made their entrance as Stiles and Lydia headed back to the table, sitting down next to Lydia’s mom. The people at their table chatted lightly over dinner, covering superficial topics like work and family. Lydia told everyone about her research when one woman asked, and when she turned towards Stiles, meeting his gaze briefly, that shine was back in her eyes. He squeezed her hand under the table, and the smile she gave him made his heart speed up so rapidly that he was  _ immensely  _ glad Lydia didn’t have supernatural hearing. 

Soon dinner was over and the cake was cut, and Anna and her husband were out on the dancefloor, everyone clapping as they waltzed through their first dance. Lydia went and got them more drinks, and they finished them as other people started flocking to the open space, the DJ starting them off with catchy, overplayed Top 40 songs. 

“Do you want to dance?” Lydia offered, standing up and tugging her skirt back into place. Stiles stood, smiling at her easily. 

“What, you’re not gonna make me rattle off some soliloquy first?” he asked. “I don’t have to compliment your intelligence and your ass?” Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“Consider it your Christmas present,” she said, smirking.

“You know, technically it’s only Christmas Eve.”

“Well, I think you’ve earned this one early.” 

A new song started just as they stepped out onto the dance floor, the melody upbeat and catchy. There was just enough alcohol pumping through his system for Stiles to not particularly care what he looked like, and Lydia laughed as he spastically flailed his limbs in some attempt to match the beat of the music. Lydia was much more coordinated, grabbing his hands and swaying in time to the music, laughing when he almost tripped over his own feet. 

They danced through a couple songs together, laugh-shouting the lyrics along with the rest of the guests as they bopped to the beat. But then the music shifted, the tempo relaxing as a soft, slow song came on. Stiles barely had a second to process before Lydia was tugging his body into hers, looping her hands around his neck and resting her head against his chest. Stiles gulped, hands linking behind her back, the feel of her skin underneath his palms from her backless dress intoxicating. He could smell her shampoo, the delicate scent of her perfume, feel her hair tickle his chin. His body buzzed, partially from the alcohol, partially just from  _ Lydia.  _

_ Stop it,  _ he instructed himself.  _ You are not allowed to be in love with her. If she finds out, it’ll ruin everything. Especially your friendship, because you know she doesn’t feel the same.  _

As Lydia shifted in his arms, drawing her body closer to his, nestling her head right under his chin, Stiles wondered if maybe it was worth the risk. 

***

Lydia wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the dancing or Stiles, but this wedding was starting to actually be sort of  _ fun.  _

It was probably the dancing, she figured. She and Stiles had been dancing for what seemed like  _ hours,  _ alternating between fast, barely-coordinated routined where Lydia had to carefully dodge Stiles’s flailing limbs, and slow, melodic dances where they would just wrap their arms around each other and sway, Lydia’s head against Stiles’s chest, his hands covering her entire back, their breathing and heartbeats completely in sync. 

They took a break at some point, Lydia heading back to their table to rest her feet while Stiles went to wait in line at the bar. Exhausted, Lydia sank into the chair next to her mother, who shot Lydia a suggestive look, eyebrows raised. 

“You and Stiles are attached at the hip,” he mother noted, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

Lydia rolled her eyes at her mother. “We’ve been dancing, Mom.” 

“I know, but not just now. All  _ night.  _ You two are always together.” 

“Well, he is my date. And he doesn't know anyone here but me.” She gave her mom a look, groaning internally at the expression on her mother’s face. “What, Mom?”

“I’m just happy for you!” Natalie defended. “Really, sweetheart.” Her voice got softer, and Lydia resisted the urge to  groan out loud. “I’m really glad that you found someone.” 

Lydia froze at that, her heart speeding up a little bit.  _ I’m really glad that you found someone.  _ Those words were enough to erase the good mood she’d been in, reminding her again of why she  _ hated  _ these events. Frustration and bitter anger filled her, because that was always the deal, wasn’t it? Every time she came to one of these things, every time she talked to anyone else, every time she had to tell another family member that no, she was still single— they all gave her that  _ look,  _ overflowing with sympathy, and assured her that  _ don’t worry, honey, you’ll find someone.  _ And it made Lydia so  _ angry.  _ Why did she need someone? Why was everyone so fixated on her finding someone? Her life wasn’t somehow less complete because she didn’t have a significant other. She had a PhD in a field that fascinated her, a job that she  _ loved,  _ a nice apartment in a city that felt like  _ home,  _ friends that meant the world to her— how did that somehow mean less because she didn’t have a boyfriend? And she didn’t feel like she was missing  _ anything.  _ If she needed to talk, she could call Kira or Scott and they would chat for hours, or Stiles would come sit on her couch and let her vent. When she was feeling lonely, Stiles would come across the hall and do work with her, or cook dinner with her, or watch a movie with her. When she was sick, or sad, or overwhelmed by her powers, Stiles would come and make her feel better and help her get through. Why did she need someone else when she already had everything she needed in her best friend? 

It dawned on Lydia that maybe she  _ didn’t  _ need someone, but not because of those traditional reasons. Maybe she didn’t need someone because she’d already  _ found  _ someone. 

Which.  _ Shit.  _

It took approximately two seconds after that revelation for Lydia to realize that she was maybe, probably,  _ definitely  _ in love with Stiles. 

_ Shit, shit, shit.  _

Lydia was about half-sure her mother had said something else, but it didn’t matter, because all she could think about suddenly was Stiles. Her eyes found him across the ballroom— he was holding their drinks, one in each hand, but he was talking with one of her aunts, who seemed to have flagged him down. He laughed at what she had said, giving her aunt a genuine grin, his eyes sparkling, and  _ god,  _ how had she not realized this earlier? He turned towards her, meeting her eyes, and she could practically see the shine in them from here. His smile was beautiful, wide and happy and  _ perfect,  _ and it grew smaller as he looked at her, tugging up into that private half-grin that he reserved just for  _ her.  _ Lydia felt her heart speed up, her lips curling up involuntarily in response, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him, trapped up in his eyes all the way from the other side of the ballroom. 

_ God,  _ she was in trouble. 

***

It was around midnight when the party finally started winding down. 

Stiles’s feet ached from so much dancing, his stomach full from dinner and his body buzzing with all the alcohol he’d consumed in the past eight hours. He was pretty positive that he’d spoken to every single one of Lydia’s relatives at least once (after Aunt Marlene’s cheek pinching, he’d made sure to avoid her again) and that he and Lydia had spent about half the time dancing. The dance floor was mostly full of Anna’s friends at this point— Lydia’s family was slowly starting to trickle out, retreating back to their rooms at the resort. 

“My mom just left,” Lydia informed him as he returned to their table, placing another round of drinks down. Lydia immediately seized hers, taking a long sip. Stiles was impressed that she didn’t seem more drunk, for all the alcohol she’d consumed tonight. Her eyes were a little glazed, and her words slightly slurred at times, but he was pretty sure she’d given a perfect explanation of zeta functions to a very uninterested uncle about twenty minutes ago.

“Do you wanna head back up to the room?” Stiles asked, gauging her reaction. She’d been a little tense ever since they’d taken a break from dancing an hour or so ago, and he’d left her with her mom to go get drinks. He wasn’t sure why, but she seemed more on edge, more jittery. His immediate thought was that her mom had figured them out, but Lydia assured him that she was still very much convinced they were dating, insisting she was fine as she dragged him back onto the dance floor, drink in hand. 

“Yes,” Lydia said immediately, relief flooding her face. “Let’s just say goodbye to Anna first.” 

Anna was, miraculously, not on the dancefloor— instead, she was hugging one of Lydia’s aunts goodbye over by the bridal table, next to the white trellis arch that had been set up for photos, covered in pine garland and poinsettias and twinkling Christmas lights. 

“Congratulations, Anna,” Lydia said, hugging her cousin. “The ceremony was beautiful, and the reception was so much fun.” 

“Thank you, Lydia,” Anna responded, smiling genuinely at her cousin, her hand covering her heart. The light from above caught on her sparkly new wedding ring. “And thank you so much for coming.” 

“Of course,” Lydia said, looking back at Stiles, her expression unreadable. Her hand twitched, like she wanted to reach out and take Stiles’s. “We had a lot of fun.” 

“It was so nice to meet you, Stiles,” Anna said, turning to Stiles. “You be good to my cousin, okay?”

Stiles looked down at Lydia, and he couldn’t help noticing a hint of that look in her eyes again— like she was overwhelmed, or nervous, or jittery. Without hesitation, he took her hand, weaving their fingers together, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “Always,” he assured Anna, eyes still locked on Lydia’s. 

“You two are  _ so cute,”  _ Anna crooned, tipping her head back. Her eyes suddenly lit up, trained on something at the top of the trellis. “Ooh, mistletoe!” 

“What?” Lydia said, eyes going wide as she followed Anna’s line of sight. Sure enough, there on top of the trellis was a little bundle of mistletoe, tied with a red ribbon. 

“Oh,” Stiles said, his heartbeat accelerating at an alarming rate. “Uh—”

“You have to kiss!” Anna said. “It’s tradition.”

“Anna,” Lydia started, her voice a little uncertain, but Anna just shook her head in a no-nonsense sort of manner. 

“Nope. You have to kiss. And I’m the bride, so you have to listen to me,” she insisted. 

“Uh,” Stiles stuttered again, eyes locking on Lydia’s, desperately searching for something to clue him in on how she was feeling. Her eyes were wide, still a little glazed, and Stiles was sure it was all the champagne, but her expression was almost like she  _ wanted  _ him to kiss her. 

_ Maybe I have some competition for this Oscar, because she’s really good at pretending to be in love with me,  _ Stiles thought, before Lydia’s shoulders relaxed, and she reached up and tugged his face down to meet hers, pressing her lips onto his. 

The first and only time Stiles had kissed Lydia Martin, he had been having a panic attack on the dirty floor of the boys’ locker room, unable to focus on anything until suddenly Lydia was kissing him, and that was the  _ only  _ thing he could focus on. It had been ten years since that moment, but now, with Lydia’s lips pressed against his, it seemed like yesterday. The softness of her mouth, the taste of her lips, the feeling of her mouth pressed against his, soft and gentle and sweet— all those details he’d tried so hard to commit to memory back then, and then force from his mind when he tried to get over his feelings for her— all those things came rushing back to him, because all of a sudden he was living them again, his heart thumping in his chest, his thoughts a little fuzzy. Gently, he pulled away from her, his heartbeat even faster at that wonderstruck look in her green eyes, still hovering mere inches from his. Because even now, after ten years and relationship after relationship where he tried to get over Lydia— every single kiss he’d ever had in between seemed inconsequential compared to the one he’d just shared with Lydia. 

“Oh, this is my song!” Anna exclaimed, both Stiles and Lydia looking at her, a little dazed, because if he was being honest, Stiles had completely forgotten she was even here in the first place. “Thanks again for coming, guys!” she said, grabbing her skirts and moving out onto the dance floor to join her bridesmaids. 

As soon as she was gone, Stiles’s eyes snapped back to Lydia, his heart still pounding. She was looking at him in a similar manner, eyes wide, her green irises darker, her lips slightly parted. Stiles’s brain was having a little trouble processing, his body still buzzing with alcohol, but then Lydia’s eyes flicked down to his lips, her expression full of wanting, and something inside him just  _ snapped  _ at the possibility that Lydia could feel the same that he did. 

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure who kissed who first— all he knew was that at one second, they were just staring at each other, a little wonderstruck, the sexual tension between them palpable, and then the next second, before either of them could say anything or think or make any rational decision, their lips were molded together again, fast and hot and passionate. This was  _ nothing  _ like either of his previous kisses with her; her breath was hot in his mouth, her tongue sweet against his, her teeth scraping against his bottom lip and making him shiver. Lydia’s hands wove into his hair, tugging at it in a way that made him groan into her mouth. His arms wrapped around her, hands splayed across her back, the feeling of her bare skin underneath the pads of his fingers somehow making his heart beat impossibly faster. 

Unwillingly, they both pulled away, panting, Stiles ducking down to keep his forehead pressed against hers. His heart leapt into his throat, taking in her swollen lips, knowing that  _ he  _ had done that to her. That she had  _ let  _ him do that to her. 

“I think we should go upstairs,” Lydia said, voice low, eyes dark with lust. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed automatically, his heart still beating too fast, breath still a little ragged. 

They made a beeline for the exit, rushing through the empty hotel lobby hand in hand. Stiles’s heart pounded as they waited for the elevator, suddenly terrified that they would both come to their senses and realize what they were doing was probably a  _ terrible  _ idea. But right now, with the taste of Lydia still on his tongue, he wasn't exactly concerned with the consequences of their actions. 

The second the elevator door was closed, their lips were on each other again, Stiles pressing her against the elevator wall. She sighed into his mouth, her hands roaming up his chest, already loosening his tie, his fingers tangling in her curls as he traced her jawline with his lips, dotting her creamy skin with kisses. 

He wasn’t sure exactly how they made it back into the room, stumbling down the hallway in a drunken haze— whether the drunkenness was coming from the alcohol or from Lydia was anyone’s guess. The second the hotel room door was closed, Lydia was wrapping herself around him, kicking off her heels as she tugged his bottom lip between her teeth, her hands roaming over his back muscles. He mirrored her, still intoxicated by the feeling of her bare skin underneath his fingers, warm and soft and  _ perfect.  _

“Lydia,” he suddenly said, tugging away from her. She sighed in response, chasing after his lips as he rested his forehead against hers again, because. This was something he wanted, clearly— something he’d wanted for longer than he could even imagine, regardless of consequence, because this was  _ Lydia.  _ But he just— he needed to make sure, before they did this. Because as much as he wanted her, there was nothing more important to him than what she thought, and how she felt. 

“Is this okay?” he asked her, glancing at her through his lashes, his voice barely a whisper. “You want to do this?” 

_ “Yes,”  _ she responded automatically, her eyes dark and wanting. “Yes, Stiles, please. I do. I just—I  _ need  _ you.” 

That was all it took for him to capture her lips with his again, his hands running up her sides, thumbs brushing against the curve of her breasts. Lydia deftly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off of him without ever breaking contact with his lips, only pulling away to help tug his t-shirt over his head. Her fingers on his skin were intoxicating, her nails raking over his muscles. 

“Stiles,” she panted into his mouth. “Please take this dress off of me.” 

Stiles nodded, fingers roaming over her body in search of a zipper, but coming up empty. “Shit,” he mumbled, pulling his lips away from hers, searching for the closure. “Jesus, Lydia, how does this thing come off?” 

She laughed, dropping her head onto his chest, before looking up to meet his eyes again. Her expression was what he could only describe as adoring— her eyes shone, that little smile tugging at her lips. Deliberately, her fingers found the zipper on the side of the dress, tugging it down, the fabric immediately loosening. His hands slid up to her shoulders, playing with the neckline. “You sure?” he asked her one last time, and Lydia nodded, biting her lip. Wordlessly, he coaxed the fabric off her shoulders, her eyes never leaving his as she helped to tug the dress off. And  _ jesus,  _ he’d forgotten it was a backless dress, because she was very much not wearing a bra. He couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath, because he had seen Lydia naked before, but this was  _ immensely  _ more intimate, so much more emotionally charged. She just looked up at him through her lashes, eyes wide and vulnerable and apprehensive, and Stiles couldn’t help it; he leaned down and kissed her again, gentler, more reverently. 

“God, you are so frickin’ beautiful,” Stiles murmured against her lips, his hands roaming over her skin, pausing on the rough, jagged scar above her hip from Peter’s attack. She froze up a little at his touch, but he just leaned into her more, deepening the kiss until Lydia relaxed again, sighing into his mouth as they stumbled towards the bed. 

It wasn’t until much later, Lydia asleep against his chest and their bodies still tangled together, that it occurred to Stiles what a  _ monumental  _ mistake that might have been. He looked at her, her messy curls spread out across the pillow, her arms looped around his torso, as he traced patterns on her bare skin delicately. This could have ruined  _ everything.  _ They were both pretty drunk, and overcome with emotions after a long, high-stress day— they could wake up in the morning and everything could be different. Lydia could be so embarrassed that she would would never speak to him again. The thought of that made his stomach twist, because Stiles wasn't sure what a life without Lydia would look like, and he certainly didn’t want to know. 

But then he thought back on tonight, picturing that look in her eyes. Wanting, adoring. Like maybe she could really want this. Really want  _ him.  _

Lydia sighed in her sleep, snuggling closer into him, and he couldn’t help thinking that maybe— maybe it was all worth it.

***

They didn’t speak the entire car ride back to Beacon Hills. 

Lydia kept her eyes on the road for the whole hour-long drive, focusing on the cars in front of her and the Christmas music coming from the radio. She was determined not to look at Stiles in the passenger seat, drumming the beat of the song out on his thigh with his fingers. 

Lydia gulped, trying to maintain her composure as she attempted not to think of exactly where those fingers had been last night. 

This morning had been  _ colossally  _ awkward, not helped by the dull pounding in her head from all the alcohol she’d had yesterday. But waking up tangled together with Stiles, both of them sleepy and sated— it had just felt so right. For one perfect moment, Lydia had just felt warm and full and  _ complete,  _ her head resting on Stiles’s chest, his steady heartbeat reverberating underneath her palm. He’d blinked sleepily at her, the smallest grin tugging at his lips, and Lydia had never felt like anything had been more right. 

And then she remembered that Stiles was her best friend, and they had both been drunk, and she had been filled with nothing but dread, because  _ what if this changed everything?  _

They were only about fifteen minutes away from Beacon Hills now— the rest of Lydia’s family was still at the resort for Christmas day, but Stiles had wanted to spend Christmas day with his family, like he always did; Lydia had just wanted an excuse to stop interacting with her family until the next cousin got married. 

Silently, they drove through the streets of this town they had grown up defending, Lydia’s eyes darting from house to house. Christmas trees sparkled in the windows, and she could see families gathered together, extra cars parked on the street. The tension between them was palpable as Lydia pulled up in front of the Stilinski-McCall house, parking behind Scott and Kira’s SUV. 

The two of them just sat there in silence as Lydia realized when they stepped into that house, they were still going to have to pretend to be dating. 

“Okay,” Lydia finally said, biting the bullet. “Last night.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, turning to look at her apprehensively. 

“We were drunk,” Lydia continued. “And we were emotionally exhausted, and I think I was just… feeling inadequate, after having everyone tell me all day how happy they were that I was dating someone. And we probably shouldn’t have done what we did, but…” she paused, meeting Stiles’s eyes. For once, she actually had no idea what he was thinking. “I’m not necessarily sorry that we  _ did  _ do what we did,” she admitted. Because even now, even with everything on the line and the fate of her friendship in jeopardy, she still didn’t think she would change what happened. “I didn’t… it wasn’t anything  _ personal,”  _ Lydia lied, because she was staring at her best friend in the world, the man that she was in love with, terrified of losing him because she had realized her feelings ten years too late. “I just… I needed  _ someone.”  _

“Yeah,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “No, same. I totally agree.” 

Lydia exhaled, relief flooding her body. “Okay. Good.” She smiled slightly at Stiles, mashing her lips together, still looking right into his eyes. “You’re my best friend, Stiles,” she told him, her expression softening. “And I don’t want what happened to change that.” 

“No, of course not,” Stiles said, shaking his head fervently. “It was just a one-time thing. Like you said, emotionally charged day and all that. Nothing personal. We’re still okay, Lyds,” he assured her, his eyes light, little flecks of gold appearing in his irises. “You’re my best friend too.” 

“Okay,” she whispered, her heart pounding. 

“You ready for one last day of pretending, fake-girlfriend?” Stiles asked, grinning. Lydia smiled at his joking tone, eternally grateful he was trying to make this easier. 

“Nothing could ever be as bad as cocktail hour yesterday,” Lydia said, grinning back. 

“Oh, this’ll be easy,” Stiles scoffed. “It’s Alex’s first Christmas. No one’s even going to pay any attention to us.” 

Lydia laughed at that as they finally climbed out of the car, tugging the skirt of her foresty-green dress back into place. Lydia popped the trunk, and Stiles grabbed the bags of presents for everyone, before making their way up the walk and ringing the doorbell. 

Melissa opened it a second later, her smile brilliant when she saw them. “You two made it!” she said, ushering them inside. “How was the wedding?” 

“Fine,” they both replied too quickly. Melissa gave them a look, but then they were in the living room, and everyone was too busy calling out greetings for Melissa to question them any further. 

“Hey, kiddo,” the sheriff said, standing up to greet his son. “Merry Christmas.” 

“You too, Dad,” Stiles said, hugging his dad in greeting. 

“I hope he was good for you at the wedding, Lydia,” the Sheriff said, and Lydia almost choked, trying  _ desperately  _ not to think of exactly how good he was last night, his hands and mouth mapping every inch of her body. 

“I was  _ extremely  _ well behaved,” Stiles informed his father, as Lydia’s eyes darted to Scott, sitting on the couch opposite her and holding Alex. She could just  _ tell  _ from his expression he knew something was off. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Melissa announced, and Lydia sighed, gratefully following her into the dining room, taking her seat between Stiles and Kira. 

Dinner was wonderful— Melissa had outdone herself with the food, and everything was delicious. It was so nice to sit around this table with people that truly felt like _ family,  _ to joke and laugh and feel wanted, valued. Watching Melissa and Noah smiling affectionately at each other and Scott and Kira fussing over Alex, after spending last night with her family— Lydia had never been more grateful for her  _ pack.  _

After dinner they moved on to presents, and Lydia somehow found herself next to Stiles on the couch while the Sheriff doled out presents. Lydia got a gorgeous sweater from Melissa and Noah, and a set of academic books she’d been eyeing  _ forever  _ from Scott and Kira. Stiles was delighted with the set of Star Wars Encyclopedias she’d gotten him (“It’s the  _ new editions,  _ Lydia!”) but most of the presents were for Alex, as Stiles had predicted. 

“Can you believe that the eight month old who will  _ literally  _ not remember any of this is making out best?” Stiles whispered in her ear, watching as Scott snapped another picture of Kira opening up one of Alex’s presents, the baby  _ clearly  _ uninterested. 

The sheriff looked up from the pile of presents for the baby, a smaller box wrapped in gold paper in hand. “Lydia, this one’s for you,” he said, handing it over, and Lydia could feel Stiles stiffen beside her. She immediately recognized his messy scrawl on the tag, and her heart sped up, staring at the little snowflakes on the paper. 

“What did you get me?” she asked, because the box was tiny— small enough to be a jewelry box, or something.  He just smiled at her softly, shaking his head a little. 

“Just open it.” 

She did, peeling back the wrapping paper carefully. She was right— underneath was a smooth, leathery box with a jeweler’s logo stamped on in gold letters. She gave him another quizzical look before flicking open the box, her breath catching when she saw what was inside. 

It was a necklace, the delicate gold chain similar to the arrow necklace she used to have. But the pendant— the pendant was what made her eyes widen, because hanging off of the chain was—

“That’s a zeta,” she said, staring at the dainty golden letter. “Like—”

“Zeta functions, yeah,” Stiles said, nodding. “Which, for the record, do you know how long it took the jeweler to grasp the concept that I  _ didn’t  _ want a capital zeta for a sorority house?” He shrugged. “He’d also never heard of non-trivial zeroes, or the Riemann hypothesis before, so.” 

“Oh my god,” she said, her heart thumping erratically. This was the most  _ thoughtful  _ present someone had ever given her, and she just— she didn’t want to say that she couldn’t believe Stiles had thought of it, because really, she could. If there was anyone who would think of something like that, it was Stiles: Stiles, who knew her better than anyone; Stiles, who was her best friend. Stiles, who always, without hesitation, was able to figure her out, time and time again. 

“You kept saying you wanted a necklace with meaning,” he told her, fingers moving to pluck the necklace from the box. “So. Something to wear when you win that Field’s Medal.” 

“It’s  _ beautiful,  _ Stiles,” she said, still a little taken aback. Stiles just grinned at her, undoing the clasp as she swept her curls over her shoulder so that he could put it on her. His fingers brushed her neck as he fastened the necklace, and she couldn’t help the shiver that raced through her body at his touch. 

“Thank you,” she said, turning back to face him. That look in his eyes made her freeze momentarily— suddenly she was seventeen years old again, sitting on the locker room floor as Stiles stared at her like she was everything in the world to him. It had been years since he’d looked at her like that, but right now, the lights from the Christmas tree shining behind him, she could see the soft, unwavering fondness in his eyes, and she couldn’t help the thumping of her heart. She was reminded again of just how much she loved this boy that knew her better than anyone and had seen her even when she didn’t want to be seen, who had known her better than she had known herself, who had spent half his life figuring her out. 

Lydia wasn’t sure why she had walked into this house certain that she could somehow just be Stiles’s friend anymore.

***

Stiles should have known he was in for it as soon as he sat down next to Scott. 

Their parents were in the kitchen cleaning up dishes, Lydia helping Kira with the dessert she and Scott had brought. Scott was on the couch, still on baby duty, Alex half asleep on his chest. Stiles plopped down on the cushions next to Scott, reclining back into the festive Christmas throw pillows. 

“Give me my nephew,” Stiles demanded, holding out his hands for the baby. Scott laughed, transferring his kid over to Stiles’s arms. Alex blinked sleepily, staring up at Stiles briefly with Kira’s eyes, before his head fell onto his chest, his little hand bunching the fabric of his sweater. Stiles rested a hand across his back, stroking it soothingly. 

“How the hell does he always smell this good?” Stiles asked Scott, expression accusatory. “I know how much this kid poops. He shouldn’t smell like this.” 

“It’s a baby thing, I think,” Scott said, shrugging. “I’m still sort of figuring everything out.” 

“Well, your child is an angel, so you’re clearly doing something right,” Stiles said. “Seriously. I don’t think he’s cried all day.” 

“Stiles,” Scott said, his expression knowing, and Stiles groaned, knowing what he was going to say. “Don’t think you can distract me by talking about my kid. I can  _ smell _ the sexual tension between you and Lydia, and it’s  _ really  _ strong.”

“I take it back, Alex,” Stiles said to the sleeping baby. “Your dad is the worst. Never tell him anything.” 

“Stiles,” Scott insisted, almost laughing. Stiles groaned again, glancing at his best friend. 

“Do you really want to know?” 

“Yes.”

Stiles cringed, preparing himself for Scott’s reaction. “We, uh, may have had sex last night.” 

_ “What?”  _ Scott said, jaw dropped. “You’re serious?” 

“Deadly serious,” Stiles confirmed grimly. “Don’t get your hopes up, though,” he continued, watching Scott’s face fall. “It wasn’t a romantic thing. It was more of a… ‘we were drunk, and Lydia sort of needed a release after having to listen to people tell her all day how happy they were she was with someone’ thing.” 

“But you’re still in love with her?” 

“Oh, very much so.” 

“How do you know it wasn’t a romantic thing?” Scott asked. “How do you know she doesn't feel the same?” 

“Uh, she kind of told me,” Stiles said, quickly recapping their conversation this morning in the car. “She said she didn’t want it to mess up our friendship. That sounds pretty clear to me about where she stands.” 

“But what if she’s just scared?” Scott asked. “How do you  _ know  _ that she doesn’t love you too?”

“I just told you, Scott! Why are you being so cryptic?” Stiles demanded. Now Scott groaned. 

“Because I can smell emotions, but just  _ telling  _ you how Lydia feels seems like an invasion of privacy,” he explained. 

Stiles just shook his head. “If you’re trying to suggest Lydia is in love with me, you’re wrong,” Stiles told Scott. “She’s not. I know she’s not.” 

“I’m not saying anything,” Scott insisted, raising his hands in defense. “But I will tell you this. You’re an idiot.” 

Stiles laughed humorlessly. “Gee, thanks for that, Scotty.” 

“I just mean that when it comes to Lydia, you are painfully oblivious to what’s in front of you.” 

“I can’t risk it, Scott,” Stiles said simply. “Pretending to be dating her all day yesterday, and then last night—” he sighed. “There’s nothing I want more than to be with her.  _ Really  _ be with her. I’ve been in love with her since I was  _ nine.  _ Even when I thought I wasn’t in love with her I was.” He swallowed. “But I can’t risk our friendship. She’s one of the most important people in my life. And I can’t screw that up.” He paused, catching a glimpse of Lydia in the kitchen, and his heart sped up just looking at her. She was talking to Kira, smiling softly, her eyes shining, and  _ god,  _ how had he ever thought he’d be able to get over this girl? How had he ever thought there would be a time in his life where he wouldn’t unconditionally love Lydia Martin? 

“I don’t want to do that to her,” he told Scott. “Because yeah, I love her. But really, I just want her to be happy.” 

“How do you know pretending not to be in love with her is what  _ will  _ make her happy?” Scott asked. Stiles froze, regarding his best friend again. 

“You know Lydia, Stiles,” Scott insisted. “You know how guarded she is. How scared of letting down her walls she is. And she’s done that with us, but it’s  _ nothing _ like how she is with you. How comfortable you two around each other— it’s kind of incredible. And in  _ ten years,  _ I’ve still never seen her look at someone the way she looks at you.” 

“I’m just saying,” Scott continued, and Stiles met his eyes, seeing the certainty in them. “You two are different. You always find your way back to each other. And I don’t think that’s because you’re just  _ friends.” _

***

“Lydia,” Kira said, snapping the other woman back to attention. “You’re staring again.” 

Lydia shook her head slightly, turning her eyes back to Kira, ignoring her slightly smug look. “Sorry,” she said, looking down at the strawberries she was supposed to be slicing for the top of the cheesecake. 

“What’s up with you and Stiles?” Kira asked. “You two have been acting weird all day.” 

“Well,” Lydia said, trying to decide where to start. “Do you really want to hear it all?” 

_ “Please,”  _ Kira begged, eyes wide. “I need something to distract me from how  _ completely  _ sleep deprived I am.” 

Lydia paused again, unsure where to begin. “Did something happen at the wedding?” Kira asked, arranging Christmas cookies on one of Melissa’s nice plates.

Lydia almost laughed. “Yes, I guess you could say that.” Kira just paused, waiting for Lydia to continue. “We kissed last night,” she said, Kira’s eyes going wide. “And then we went back up to the hotel room and had sex.” 

Kira’s jaw practically dropped.  _ “What?”  _

“It should have felt so  _ wrong,  _ Kira,” Lydia said, voice hushed. “He’s my best friend. I’m not supposed to feel that way about him.” 

“But?” Kira urged. Lydia sighed.

“But.” She glanced at her friend. “But it’s never been like  _ that  _ before.” 

“That good?” Kira asked, her expression completely engrossed. 

“No,” Lydia said, because it had been good, but that wasn’t it. She closed her eyes, and she could practically feel Stiles’s hands on her body, taste his lips on hers, hear her heart hammering out of her chest as he made her feel more complete than she could ever remember feeling.  “That  _ right.”  _

She turned to look at Kira again, her eyes wide, and Lydia couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of her mouth. “I woke up this morning with his arms around me and my immediate thought wasn’t ‘Oh my god, what did we do?’ It was how  _ right  _ that felt. Like we were  _ supposed  _ to be like that. Something happened at the wedding, and I— I don’t know. Maybe it was all the pretending. But it just started to feel like being with Stiles was what I was supposed to do. And all of a sudden, I can’t go back to thinking about him like I did before.” 

“What do you mean?” Kira asked.

“I mean I think I’m in love with him,” Lydia admitted, her voice hushed. Kira’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know, Kira,” she said, unable to stop talking suddenly. “It’s like something snapped this weekend. Like some sort of fog cleared. Every time someone looks at me and tells me that I’ll find someone eventually, I get so angry at the proposition that my life somehow isn’t complete without a guy in it. Because it’s always  _ felt  _ complete. But I’m realizing now it’s because of Stiles.” She looked away from her friend, glancing into the living room at Scott and Stiles, sitting together on the couch. Stiles had Alex cradled against his chest, his hand splayed across the baby’s back, and her heart just  _ ached,  _ watching him grin at his nephew, because she had never wanted anything more than she wanted a life with Stiles right now. 

“I’m too late, though,” Lydia said, recognizing the truth behind her words. “I’m  _ way  _ too late. Stiles moved on years ago.” 

Kira shot her a look. “Are you sure?” 

Lydia laughed humorlessly. “Yes. And after waiting around for me for years, I don’t blame him.”

“Lydia,” Kira said, voice soft. “I know I didn’t know you guys when Stiles was in love with you the first time. But I knew him junior year, and after. I watched him break into the closed unit of Eichen House  _ alone  _ to rescue you. I watched him risk his life for you, over and over, and not because he was expecting anything back from you, but just because that was how much he loved you.”

“So?” Lydia said, regarding Kira. The other woman’s expression softened. 

_ “So,” _ Kira continued. “You don’t just stop loving someone that way. That feeling never  _ really  _ goes away.” She paused. “Scott waited five years for me, not knowing if I’d  _ ever  _ come back from the Skinwalkers. He dated other people, convinced himself he’d moved on, and then…” she shrugged, looking at Lydia again. “When I came back, it was like no time had passed at all.”

“I don’t know if this is like that,” Lydia muttered, unwilling to let herself hope. That was unfair to Stiles. 

“Lydia,” Kira said, giving her a pointed look, her eyes sliding down to the necklace around Lydia’s neck. “Trust me. If Stiles is getting you presents like  _ that,  _ he doesn’t just think of you as a  _ friend.  _ Even if  _ he  _ doesn’t know what he feels, he feels it.” 

Lydia’s heart thumped, eyes locked on Stiles again, pulse accelerating at the thought that maybe Stiles could feel the same way. Kira shot her friend a grin, placing the sliced strawberries Lydia had been cutting on top of the cheesecake, carrying it to the table. 

“Plus,” Kira added, with one last knowing look at Lydia. “Scott’s been complaining about how lovesick Stiles smells  _ all day.”  _

Lydia didn’t think her heart had  _ ever  _ beat so fast before. 

***

The one downside of his best friend having a kid was that said best friend went to bed  _ way earlier  _ now. 

Scott and Kira packed up their car at ten, piling the trunk with presents and buckling an exhausted Alex into his carseat. “We’ll see you guys again before you go back to Boston,” Scott promised, hugging Stiles goodbye. He gave his best friend a knowing look. “And talk to Lydia, would you?” Stiles had spluttered indignantly as his best friend drove off, standing in the driveway for a minute before retreating back into the house. 

Lydia was on the couch when he walked back inside, the room only illuminated by the lights from the Christmas tree. She looked up when he walked in, her expression a little caught off guard, but she relaxed when she was it was him, leaning back against the couch cushions. 

“Your parents just went up to bed,” she told him, tucking her legs up under her, and Stiles just blinked a little at how comfortable she looked, sitting here on the couch in his parents’ home. Stiles sat down next to her, leaving a larger-than-normal gap of space between them, looking up and meeting her eyes. The emotion on her face was unreadable, her eyes shining from the Christmas lights. 

“Why is everyone else incapable of staying up till a normal hour?” he asked, and Lydia grinned, the sound of her laugh intoxicating. God, she was so gorgeous. Her curls were a little messy from the day’s activities, one framing her face gently, having fallen loose from her hairdo. 

“Well, we did it,” Lydia said, her eyes locked on his. “We made it through. No one once questioned the legitimacy of our relationship.”

“I know,” Stiles said, grinning. “I’m waiting for my Oscar now.” She laughed again, rolling her eyes at him affectionately. Stiles couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, staring at her. The gold glint of her necklace caught his eye, and Lydia followed his gaze, her hand raising to play with the little golden charm on the chain. 

“Thank you, though,” Lydia said, her voice softer, sincere. “Thank you for pretending.”

_ I wasn’t pretending,  _ he wanted to scream. Because while it was true, it didn't’ mean Lydia felt the same. And most of all, he cared about how she felt.

But. 

There was something in her eyes right now, something almost like apprehension, or hesitation— an emotion that he couldn’t quite identify. But her cheeks were a little flushed, and he couldn’t help notice the look she was giving him was something from another lifetime. A lifetime where she had been doubting her powers, lying on his plaid comforter with bright red lips and her shoes kicked off, and Stiles had told her not to doubt herself. Lydia’s expression had been a little alarmed, a little wonderstruck, a little in love as she watched him unwind red string from her fingers, her hands so tiny in his. That moment had been the first time that Stiles had maybe considered Lydia could feel the same about him. And she was looking at him just like that now, like she was still trying to figure out the depth of her feelings, but that she undoubtedly knew they were there. 

Stiles thought back to his conversation with Scott earlier, what he had told his best friend. He had meant what he said— he wanted Lydia to be happy, most importantly. But it was occurring to him now that maybe she could be happy  _ with  _ him. Scott’s words rang in his head, and Stiles thought that maybe his best friend was right. 

_ You two always find your way back to each other. _

Stiles reached out, hesitantly, tucking her loose curl behind her ear, and he swore he could hear Lydia’s heartbeat speed up. He knew, instantly, what he needed to say; suddenly, the knowledge that this would irrevocably change everything didn’t really scare him anymore. It just seemed  _ right  _ to him. 

“Lydia,” he said, her name soft on his lips. She met his eyes, and Stiles had always been good at reading her, but he honestly didn’t know entirely what she was thinking right now. As much as that terrified him, he kept talking, because there was something that told him this was just— what he was supposed to do. 

“I lied, earlier,” he told her, and he saw her eyes widen ever so slightly, before they narrowed. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice quizzical. 

“About last night,” he said, and he could see her freeze up. “When I said that it was nothing personal.” 

“Stiles,” she said, voice quiet, eyes fixed on his. 

“It  _ was  _ personal,” he told her. “Because I… I went into this whole thing thinking it  _ wouldn’t  _ be. That we could pretend, and it would be  _ fine,  _ and at the end of the week we would go back to Boston and laugh and someday tell stories of when we pretended to date for a week to get our families off our backs. But then we actually had to pretend, and I realized I wasn’t pretending anymore. Your mom would ask how much I cared about you, or your aunt would want to know how proud of you I was, and I wasn’t making up answers.” He paused, his heart hammering, on the verge of beating out of his chest. “Because it’s been ten years, but— Lydia,” he said, his breath catching. “It took me a while to realize, but I’ve never stopped loving you.” 

He could see her eyes widen, taken aback at his declaration. “I just… I needed you to know,” he told her. “You’re my best friend. And I guess, what I’m really asking is… do you—?” 

“Yes,” Lydia breathed, cutting him off before he could even get out the rest of the question. “Yes, Stiles,  _ yes.”  _

His heart sped up as Lydia moved across the couch, the space in between them disappearing as she took his head in her hands, pulling him towards her and pressing her lips into his. Stiles sighed into her, his hands wrapping around her waist automatically, his heart thumping in his chest. This was different than their heated kisses from last night— now, he kissed Lydia softly, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. Her lips were sweet against his, her breath fanning out over her cheek as her nose nudged against his hesitantly. 

Stiles sighed when she pulled away, keeping his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against hers. Her hands were warm on his cheeks, and he just felt so—  _ anchored,  _ grounded by her touch and her presence. With Lydia so close to him, it seemed like everything in the world sort of made sense again. 

“When did you realize?” she asked, and Stiles finally opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were shining, her lips pulled up into that same little smile from dinner two nights ago that had made him realize he was still in love with her. 

“Uh, about twenty minutes into dinner on Friday night,” he confessed, and he couldn’t help grinning when Lydia’s eyes widened in realization. 

_ “That’s  _ why you were acting so weird!” she said. “I  _ knew  _ if it had actually been something at work, you would have started complaining about it immediately.” 

“Oh, yeah, work never called,” he said. “I was on the phone with Scott having a breakdown about the fact that I had just realized I was in love with you still.” He paused, nudging her nose with his, his heart thumping at the faint blush that dusted her cheeks. “What about you?”

“Right at the end of the reception,” she said, closing her eyes. “You were coming back from getting drinks, and my aunt had pulled you over to talk to you. And I’d just figured out why everyone telling me I’d find someone someday annoyed me so much.” She opened her eyes, looking right into his, her expression serious. “It’s because I’ve never  _ needed  _ to find someone. This whole time, I’d already found someone. I’d found  _ you.”  _

Her eyes were so light, every fleck of gold in them visible, open and warm and full of love. Stiles’s heart skipped, and he tilted his chin up again, capturing her lips with his. Lydia kissed him back leisurely, smiling into his lips. 

“So,” Stiles asked when they pulled away again. Lydia had somehow migrated to his lap, her hands carding through his hair, one of his hands covering the small of her back, the other woven into her curls. She leaned into him, her chest inches from his, and he could feel her heart beating below his palm, perfectly in sync with hers. “You’ve been my  _ fake  _ girlfriend all week.” She laughed, her head falling onto his shoulder, and he couldn’t fight the grin stretching across his lips. “What do you say to maybe being my  _ real  _ girlfriend?” 

“Hmm,” Lydia said, straightening back up, pretending to consider his offer. But he could see the gleam in her eyes, the playful tilt to her smile, and his chest ached with how much he loved this girl. “Okay,” she finally whispered, grinning as she leaned into him, kissing him again. 

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, his heart skipping. 

“Yeah,” Lydia whispered, her smile the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. She wrapped her arms around him, tucking herself into his chest as she hugged him tightly. “Merry Christmas, Stiles,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, her curls soft underneath his chin. He smiled, his arms snaking around her, the warmth of her body intoxicatingly familiar and new, all at the same time. 

He turned, pressing a kiss to her temple. He wanted to wonder how he’d possibly gotten this lucky, but at the same time, he couldn’t, because this just felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like everything in his life had been leading to this moment. Like this had to happen eventually, somehow, because he and Lydia were always supposed to find each other again. 

_ You two always find your way back to each other. _

“Merry Christmas, Lydia,” he whispered, and when she sighed into him, her heartbeat strong against his skin, nothing had ever felt more right in the world. 


End file.
